


The Gap Between Love and Hate

by idola



Category: Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu | The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Genre: M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27732520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idola/pseuds/idola
Summary: Bad habits are hard to break, especially when it's difficult to tell if one enjoys them or not.
Relationships: Lucile Eris/Miran Froaude
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Gap Between Love and Hate

**Author's Note:**

> a little known fact about me (i HOPE) is that i go batshit insane for one and only one kink. actually it's probably at the level of fetish. anyway guess what it is

“Miran, do you want to try?”

Miran moves his head just enough to be able to see out of his pillow, though he’s already guessed what his father is talking about. A glance proves it - he’s holding out a cigarette for Miran while another dangles from his mouth, his lighter in hand. He likely expects Miran to light it for him. That is not new. However, the offer of a cigarette for Miran to smoke with him is.

He hates the smell of smoke. It smells like his father, thick and dirty, and he has absolutely no desire to partake in it himself. But he did not get this far by saying no to everything he doesn’t want. So he tries to make his expression change into a curious one and takes the cigarette from his father, turning it over in his hands. He already knows what they feel like. His father just likes to see him act like a clueless child, even if he is emphatically already a teenager. 

His father smiles. It’s hard not to scowl when he sees it out of the corner of his eye, but Miran manages to force a sweet smile back. “I may sputter a bit since it will be my first time… please, do help me do it well.”

Sickening. But it has the desired effect. He is babied exactly how much he is used to being babied, his father never suspecting a thing. And the cigarette is lit for him.

Miran does not have any interest in smoking. However, doing things like this is important. There have been times where he allowed himself enough room for his father to think that his interest waned. They led to less opportunities. So he is always sure to do everything he is asked now, no matter how disgusting it is. He presses the cigarette between his lips and inhales.

If he hadn’t sputtered naturally, he would have pretended to. But he does.

It’s revolting, really. The smell is bad enough in his nose, but it’s downright sickening in his throat. He does not want it there, and yet… he must force himself into a pout… something to show distaste in a way that his father can accept.

He does. He pats Miran on the head, gets his disgusting, sticky sweat in his hair. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to try. It’s a bit too adult for you, don’t you think?”

Miran’s eyes narrow.

\---

Oddly enough, he’s kept at it. His father offers him another cigarette from time to time. Miran begins to hate the feeling less as months turn to years. Then, before he even realizes… he is picking off his father’s pack to light two, one for them both, instead of just lighting one for his father.

Sickening. And yet the more his father protests and says he wishes Miran would stop, the less he wants to. So he does not. Because it is the type of thing his father says he dislikes sometimes, primarily when he wants to see Miran as a child, and seems to appreciate others, when he would like an adult to smoke with. If Miran had to choose which side of that line he’d like to be on in the few months he is forced to stay here before heading off to school in Reylude, it’s obvious.

However.

It continues when he’s away. It continues when his father is dead.

Miran feels that he should stop now, remembering how disgusting he felt it was when he started… but the rare time that he gets out of his office to smoke in the cool night air is much appreciated and leads to a much clearer mind for the last few hours until sleep. Why should he stop, then? Yes, it’s said to be bad for one’s health… but how often do people with his job description live long enough for it to matter?

He is twenty-three now, so he has been doing this for almost ten years now… And it has only become more as of late, since His Majesty Astal keeps long hours that Miran feels the need to observe as well, when he is able. Plus, he can just buy them himself now instead of needing to rely on his father… 

All things said, he does tend to keep the habit to himself. Of course his servants know. Because after a long day, if he is to snap at them, it is not uncommon for there to be some lying around the house that a servant has decided to buy to prolong their employment. Miran cannot decide if he hates it or not.

At the very least, His Majesty does not know. Claugh Klom also remains unaware… at least, Miran believes he does. They camped out in Roland’s frontier on the way back from Ackmel on the day Miran’s father died. It was possible that Claugh had seen him at some point that night, unable to sleep and sitting outside his tent so as to not accidentally burn the thin fabric at its top.

Even at times like this, it’s possible that someone might see him, exhaling into the shadow of the moon as he stands against a dead area of the castle… but it is unimportant, in the end. What is important is that he works adequately, and smoking is the easiest way he knows to ensure his productivity at this time of night.

He returns indoors when he is finished. Everywhere in the castle is a bit of a walk, but he needs time to think about the various proposals sitting on his desk at any given time, and it is his opinion that fresh air is the best way to find words. 

This time, however… he hears a second step not far from his room. He pauses. The step pauses, too.

“…Duke Eris.”

“Good evening.”

“It’s past midnight.”

“Is it?” Lucile asks, and it almost seems like genuine confusion in his voice for a moment. “Still, you’re hard at work… aren’t you.”

“It is difficult for me to say the same of you, seems as His Majesty is nowhere to be seen…”

“Haha. Where I am and where he is have little to do with how well I can protect him.”

“…Of course,” Miran says. Perhaps it is time to get to the point. “For what do I owe the pleasure of our meeting now?”

“Pleasure? Is that what we’re calling it now?” Lucile asks. He’s already close enough to whisper against Miran’s ear. The sensation makes him shiver.

…Pleasure is certainly… a word they could use for it. Though Miran prefers that they don’t, if Lucile is asking.

They kiss a little too naturally, but it soon turns to bites and scratches. He prefers it that way. Kissing isn’t particularly enjoyable to him, and it’s much less so when he realizes how much drier his own mouth is than Lucile’s. Cigarettes tend to dry, after all. And Lucile almost certainly tastes it… 

But Lucile does not comment. The most he does is make a slight noise as their bodies push together, despite knowing that this is not a meeting that should be happening, and even if it were, this is not where it should be happening… 

Miran pulls away to voice the second half of that, but his mind spins and when he next looks around they’re in a bed in a side room in the palace.

This is something that has happened before, and Miran is no stranger to this sort of situation. To the bed. To the expectation in bringing him here. They have done this before, but that means nothing to his mind of habit. He acts as if he is someone else. It’s so natural that he hardly needs to be present for it.

By now, the movements that Miran must make in bed are etched deep into his mind. But Lucile’s half-second of clumsiness often drags him off track, forcing him to acknowledge the present. Lucile’s anatomy is quite different from what he’s used to… so things end up quite different by the time they’re panting and finished.

Normally Miran leaves as soon as he can. But his eyes were heavy when he left the castle to smoke, and now, after giving into desire and lying in a soft bed, they are only heavier… 

“Stay if you’d like,” Lucile says.

…Is his need for sleep that obvious? Miran glances at Lucile. He does not look tired in the slightest. Or… does he? He looks no different from normal, at the very least. Whether that means he is tired or not, though… 

Miran’s body begs for routine, despite everything. For he has just lain with another, and now his mind must be rewarded, no, his mind is simply expectant. It is routine, after all.

“…Do you mind if I…?”

“If you what?” Lucile asks as if he isn’t well-aware already. He must just want to make Miran voice it, despite the distinct discomfort that comes with doing so. 

“If I smoke…”

“Hm. If you must,” Lucile says.

It sounds distinctly like ‘no.’ So Miran does not search for his pack among his clothes. But it is unpleasant, sitting here and thinking of it. He has not had anyone sitting in bed to tell him ‘no’ for quite a while now, and just like then, it only makes him want it more to be told that now.

It’s pathetic, really.

That was what he always thought when he was a child watching his father fidget until he could smoke. 

And yet.

“I have never been close with anyone who smoked before,” Lucile says. “Watching you fidget over it is a rather new experience for me.”

“We are not close.”

“I have never slept with a smoker before, then.”

“…And I have never slept with someone who doesn’t smoke. At a time like this, I am unsure if the proper etiquette is to offer one to you or not,” Miran says. Though he doesn’t really care. He more wanted the excuse to reach for his pack, because Lucile is right - he will fidget until the end of time as things are now. He removes two, then glances at Lucile for a reaction. But Lucile’s face is impossible to read. It always has been. So Miran is left hanging, unsure of whether he should put one away or not until the moment Lucile responds.

“Don’t bother. I find the smell revolting…”

“…I see,” Miran says. He’s hit with a strong sense of déjà vu, enough to make his eye twitch. He feels as if he’s had a conversation like this before… in fact, the first time he was offered, did he not want to reply that he himself found it revolting? 

He may have spent nearly half of his life smoking now, but that also means that he spent over half of it hating it… 

It was nearly enough to make him put both cigarettes back away. But he only puts one away, then lights the other and takes a long drag. The familiarity is relaxing. He feels some of the tension leave his shoulders, and he sits back down on the bed.

What exactly is Lucile thinking right now, watching someone who couldn’t go to sleep without a final smoke, naked in bed…? It must be a revolting sight. But that is for the best.

He exhales smoke into the once-clean air. He is overly aware of Lucile, who he has slept with before, but who has never stayed to watch his rituals until now.

Really… they ought to stop acting like this. Having sex does not do him any good. It is likely the same for Lucile. He glances at the bedside table. There isn’t even an ashtray in this room…

Miran inhales once more. He is not sure whether to take his time or try to be fast. He is past the point of being able to be discreet, and not much matters after that, he thinks. He glances over at Lucile. It is difficult to tell with him. It always is. Is he trying to sleep? Is he planning on a second round or does he want to leave? Is he annoyed, or is he getting used to the smell? His face is rather blank, like he is staring off into space… but his eyes are closed.

Miran sighs, exhaling smoke into the room once more, this time watching Lucile. His only reaction is to open his eyes just so, a sliver of clear blue only barely visible beneath his pale lashes. 

What is he thinking right now?

“…Do you want to quit?”

“Quit?” Miran repeats. “Quit what, exactly?”

“This.”

…That could be any number of things. Their current situation, lying in bed like this, not quite alone but not quite together. The meetings. Sex. To be more general, the fighting, perhaps. The wars. 

Lucile laughs. It is a hollow sound that lacks human emotion altogether. “No, no. I meant your habit. Smoking. I’ve been watching you for a while now…”

“…Yes, you have told me before…”

“And to me it seems that you put a lot of effort into hiding it. From Sion and from that redhead you’re overly fond of. ”

Overly fond…? Miran would have argued if it were anyone but Lucile. But Lucile does not really care, so he casts it aside. “What I do on my own time is none of their concern.”

“Is it, now? I have watched you. You tend to buy more than usual if you will be abroad for a while. Might you alert someone to Roland’s presence unknowingly through smoking a brand that one can only find in Roland?”

“…It can be found in Runa as well.”

“But Nelpha? The countries past the far south of the continent? Haha. You look like you’ve never thought about it.” 

That is, unfortunately, true.

“I don’t care much either way,” Lucile continues. “I must admit that it has a strange appeal when you do it. The fault of your long fingers, perhaps, or the rare sight of your relaxed, smoke-filled sighs… and how you must rely on it to relax yourself at all. I have seen you smoke many times now, since you stop to do so several times each day. I can see why you do it. But I fail to see why you started.”

…What an invasive line of questioning. “Duke Eris, pardon my rudeness, but it is truly none of your business…”

Lucile smiles. “I am aware. Whether you act in a way that harms the country or not has nothing to do with me.”

Miran can’t help but scowl. It is rare that Lucile is so transparent in his motivations. Or so he thinks, until Lucile lifts himself up to straddle Miran, wrapping his arms around his back, nails dragging slowly down, while pressing down on his… 

Miran angles his head away, then moves the cigarette to his lips one more time. He is sure that Lucile sees it as an act of rebellion, or otherwise blind stubbornness. And yet Lucile allows him to breathe it in once more, deeply, as he rakes his nails down Miran’s back. 

“Look at you… You’d rather finish that than be kissed.”

Miran nearly chokes. Because he has been told something very similar before. 

“Oh, that got quite the reaction… how rare.”

“You are exceptionally talkative today,” Miran forces out, pulling the cigarette away without taking enough in at all. “You haven’t been satisfied yet, have you…?”

“Take another drag,” Lucile says. Orders, perhaps. A rare tone coming from his mouth. Typically Lucile is all offers, suggestions, no matter how forceful of ‘suggestions’ they might be. An order, however… this might be the first time he has heard one. Miran cannot help but gulp. Lucile’s tone sends the sensation of danger straight down his spine, leaving it to settle somewhere it shouldn’t… 

He obeys. Lucile watches him from his vantage point on Miran’s lap. Miran is painfully aware that the pressure of Lucile against him has made his body react, and that the slight fear of an unknown encounter beginning once more has only added to it… but he must obey. For Lucile is easily strong enough to end his life here and now. So he places the cigarette rather clumsily where he has just removed it from his lips and breathes in.

Lucile waits for his unsure fingers to remove from his lips to breathe out before pressing his lips against Miran’s. He is left with no choice but to breathe out into Lucile.

Lucile, who makes a disgusted noise. Lucile, who nearly pulls away, but curls his fingers against Miran’s back and grinds against him in an effort to distract himself, to force himself to stay. But once it has been in his mouth for a moment he allows himself to part and to breathe the hot smoke back onto Miran’s lips.

“…Disgusting,” Lucile says. “What appeal did this have, exactly, that made you want to start…?”

“You are correct. It lacks appeal,” Miran says. “Though I do not care if what I do is appealing to others or not.” He is painfully aware of how hard he has grown against Lucile, who has stopped grinding against him for the time being. “It is simply something that I do…” 

“Mm… A weakness, then.”

Lucile finally moves one of his hands from Miran’s back to his cock, gently gripping him, tugging, running his fingertip in circles against precum.

Why does he seem so satisfied? Is it the knowledge? The taste that he will now need to wash out of his mouth, should he truly be so disgusted by it? Lucile is opaque where Miran is transparent. It is both endlessly frustrating and a source of great excitement.

He feels Lucile’s other hand take his as Lucile lifts himself up once more, angling Miran’s cock in his hand towards his entrance. He slowly pushes down onto it, gasping when Miran’s tip stretches him once more. He is wet, like always, and yet he still gasps like it’s a struggle to fit. It is only when Lucile’s hand leaves his that Miran realizes that Lucile has gotten rid of the cigarette in the process. How, he is not sure. A monster has many ways of doing things that a human cannot comprehend.

It is a bit annoying, seems as he was not finished, and his mouth still craves the last few drags the cigarette would have allowed him. His body will not rest until he has had more, now, something he has learned after many years of experience, of putting them out early due to interruption.

It leaves both of his hands free, however, something Miran uses to cup Lucile’s waist, to thumb over his defined hipbones, to grip him as he takes Miran’s cock inside of himself without any prompting at all. The desire fails to reach his eyes, but his mouth opens and closes with small, choked noises, like he never learned to moan but has just come to need the skill, though it is one he does not possess. Yet the noises he makes go straight to Miran’s erection.

It takes several thrusts for Lucile to press himself far enough to jolt. Despite his usual calm demeanor, Lucile has always been sensitive in bed, and watching his legs twitch from his own doing - how is this any different than masturbation, really? - Miran is unable to resist the urge to buck up, hard, against the same point that just made Lucile come undone.

“Mm, mmm…!”

Lucile finally manages something that sincerely sounds like a moan. He’s stopped thrusting and is just holding himself there now, hugging Miran’s back for balance, scratching with his short nails and breathing heavily against his shoulder as Miran’s cock moves ever so slightly against him due to his wavering legs, rubbing against his insides, nearly tearing him apart, and yet he still nudges Miran’s cock for another jolt once he has half a mind to.

Miran shifts to bring himself out once more, though he can only force himself out an inch before his body instinctively thrusts back into the heat it so desires. He does so several times. It’s far past the point of teasing; he’s giving Lucile what he wants, faster than he can take it. Closer than he can take it. And it soon bears fruit.

Lucile’s body clenches up, and he’s back to choked noises rather than moans, his legs doing their best to shake together rather than remain parted so widely. But they’re stopped. Miran stops them. It’s so much more obscene how he is now, cumming with his legs spread over Miran, so wet that he’s dripping down his shaft as his cunt is wrecked with a spasm.

Lucile breathes in after a few moments, attempting to catch his breath again. But why should he, when Miran hasn’t yet finished?

Miran thrusts back against him. Lucile’s legs twitch forcefully, and he clenches around Miran’s cock once more.

It would be easier lying down, but Miran’s too single-mindedly focused on his own release to even consider moving to a more comfortable position. The only thing that matters now is finishing into Lucile’s spent body. 

Lucile doesn’t tell him to stop, despite his groaning. He is past the point of pleasure and moving into pain from the sound of it, something Miran is only vaguely aware of as he finishes himself, rutting against Lucile’s depths for the sole purpose of his own release. He finally gets it, pressed hard against Lucile’s cervix, and the tightening and groaning of Lucile above him only makes it better as his body finally recognizes his intent and grants him finish.

Miran pulls out once he is satisfied. His own cum drips back down onto his still-hard cock for a moment before Lucile manages to move his legs just enough to sit back down properly. There’s a mess between them, on them, covering their thighs uncomfortably. The movement only makes it worse, but they’re each too busy catching their breath to care, for the time being.

The aftermath with Lucile is different from what Miran is used to. It’s always been different. Miran is left with an entirely blank mind, forced to pick the pieces of what he’d been doing before up and rearrange them with an angel-like devil still idly running a delicate hand across his damp thigh. He never used to blank out afterwards. Perhaps he’s getting too old for this.

Miran urges his mind to restart. The only thing it will offer him is the idea of a post-coital cigarette. Yes. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? He closes his right hand over the fingers that had been holding his unfinished cigarette until Lucile took it.

“Again, right?” Lucile says. His voice is hoarse from sex, and it is both the ugliest and most tantalizing he could possible sound. “If we’re just going to lie here again, you want to smoke again. Am I wrong?”

“…No,” Miran replies. He is tired. He tries not to respond too quickly but he is not certain that he is successful. “I would very much like to.”

“Even though the room still smells so strongly of smoke,” Lucile says. Miran had not noticed. Would not have noticed, in all likelihood. He seldom notices the smell anymore. 

They remain quiet after that, save for their quick pulses and breaths slowly returning to normal. Miran adjusts himself to get out from under Lucile so he can get something to smoke. But Lucile gets off entirely and stands up at the edge of the bed.

“Allow me.”

Miran watches him. Lucile does things in an efficient way, no matter the time. He finds everything he needs in the first place he looks, even though Miran’s things are not his and he should not know the particulars of where he keeps a pack and lighter, unless he has been watching a little too closely. He does not really care if Lucile has been, at the moment. His mind is too focused on Lucile’s shiny, cum-streaked thighs as he turns back around and returns to Miran’s lap.

Lucile misclicks on the lighter once. He gets it on the second try. Miran takes the cigarette between his fingers, or tries, at least - Lucile does not entirely let go. So he merely guides his hands to his lips, to where the cigarette belongs. Lucile lights it for him, perfectly, as if he has practiced before. He has not. He is simply skilled in all he does, in a way humans are not.

Miran inhales, then pulls the cigarette away for a moment to exhale. It has little elsewhere to go but near Lucile’s face, but he doesn’t scowl or make any other expression of disapproval. He simply watches.

“…I cannot tell if you love it or hate it,” Miran admits.

“The same goes for me.”

Miran scoffs. “How odd.” 

“I think you’re the same, too, though. You don’t know if you love it or hate it. If you should continue or stop. If it’s good or bad…”

“Would you like to try?” Miran offers once more. He is not sure what else to do in this scenario, and he forgot to back when Lucile was getting it for him. Offering just seems like the polite thing to do.

“No… I had better not. We’re very similar, you know. I think I’d just end up like you if I started. Haha.” Lucile says that. He does. But when Miran takes another drag, he leans into it. He doesn’t breathe deeply. He is likely serious when he says that he dislikes the smell, just as Miran was when he was younger. And then he speaks once more. “But… it’s different. I never used to smell it. It feels… like…”

Lucile sighs. It is one of the rare moments of unsureness, of weakness, that he allows Miran to see.

…So he does understand. Perhaps he would take the offer if Miran handed it to him, curled his fingers around the cigarette in the same way he was taught to. But the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth, so he does not go through with it. Instead he takes his time to enjoy it. And he does. Enough that it’s revolting.

Perhaps he should stop. Lucile is right. It is a weakness, and weaknesses should be dealt with for the good of their country.


End file.
